


steal a heart away

by bistiles (alis)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Hitman Derek, M/M, Oral Sex, Thief Derek, Thief Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alis/pseuds/bistiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look, I have a plan, and a good one. If you're not up for it, I can get someone else for the job. It won't be hard to find someone willing," Stiles quipped, feeling annoyed by Derek. He had this general effect on Stiles.</p><p>Derek crossed his legs, making the powerful muscles of his thigh bunch and contract at the moment, perfectly visible under the skin tight jeans.</p><p>"Oh no, I am interested, Stilinski. I am very interested," Derek smiled again, leaning forward with intent, and Stiles felt his stomach contract in response. Smug asshole, "When do we start?"</p><p>--</p><p>Stiles comes up with an infallible plan to steal diamonds from a vault. For his plan to work, he needs a partner, and Stiles chooses the one other thief he considers just as good as he is: Derek Hale.</p><p>But working with Derek means dealing with a lot more feelings and memories than Stiles initially thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	steal a heart away

 

✖ ✖ ✖

It took Stiles several months of planning before he decided that, yes, he wanted to steal those diamonds.

At first, it had been nothing but pure ambition on his part, the kind of itch that started as nothing but was constant enough to soon become an obsession. Like many of Stiles projects and jobs, he kept it contained to casual research. If ten hours of research could be called such a thing as "casual". It wasn't his fault, though. They were hidden in the top floor of one of the tallest and most secure buildings in the world. It was _exciting_.

From obsession, it grew into a solid desire. He needed to do it. He needed to do it because... He did. Because it was consuming him alive, and since Stiles was a person moved by passion, he wasn't about to deny himself the pleasure. Impulse control was never a thing he really possessed; restraint was overrated. At least when it was about him and what his jobs.

He pulled his good old glass board from the corner of his office and positioned it in the middle of the room, facing the black wall where he pinned articles and snippets he took from newspaper and magazines. Stiles didn't have that much of a big ego, but he had enough of one to collect news about his feats. That one successful heist at Harry Winston -- well, the one he had been part of anyway. Schiphol Airport. The haul in Antwerp Diamond Center. Oh yes, that one had been fun. He knew that if anyone was to get into this sacred shrine to his crime life he would be in trouble. Except this one room was well hidden, protected by layers of concrete in his basement and locked away by an independent security system that had a 32 character long password. It used to be 64, but then Stiles forgot one character and had to hack his own system. Which took him days. On the bright side, he proved to himself that his system was efficient.

When he had the sketch of a plan made, he decided that it was about time to do something with it. His plan was so detailed he had needed a second glass board. It was a work of art. He could sell it to some other thief; he had done it before, when the prize hadn't been something he was willing to take, or his schedule clashed with some other, more interesting job. But then Stiles realized he wanted this one. He wanted to do it himself, as hard as it was. Maybe exactly because it was incredibly hard. It required a good thief, and Stiles was the best there was.

Yes. This one was his. His to take, his to crack.

With his decision made, Stiles started his preparations. And when those were mostly done with, he got ready for the last step. He needed a partner.

✖ ✖ ✖

"So you have a job for me?” was the first thing Derek asked, looking amused and infuriatingly hot, like he often did anyway.

Derek Hale was probably one of the best thieves Stiles knew, not that he would ever tell Derek so. He was efficient, analytical, and pragmatic, if not a bit prone to violence every now and then. Where Stiles avoided any kind of skirmish when he was doing his jobs, Derek had no qualms of punching a people or ten in the nose to achieve his goal. Or shooting them. Or, one one remarkable occasion, taking them down with a silver teapot. Stiles knew. He had been on Derek's path before and he had been the lucky bastard to get the teapot on the nose. The delights of sharing the same goal.

Derek had missed his target, though, and that made up for the busted nose. It also forged a weird, competitive bond between them when their contracts got unified and they were asked to work together instead of against each other.

They had made a surprisingly good team; having the opportunity to work together several more times after the first time proved that. But Stiles could never go as so far as to call Derek part of his team. At the end of their missions, they would insist to go separate ways, reuniting again when some other job appeared for them.

Stiles fidgeted on his seat. It was hot, too hot for afternoon in October, with the sun shining unforgiving above him, burning the sensitive skin of his nape. This one meeting was no different than many times before. He rubbed it with a hand.

"It's not for you. It's for us. I need a partner for this one," Stiles grumbled, fiddling with his coffee cup. He regretted asking for it the moment he made contact with the hot surface of the cup. He would be melting outside and inside. He felt like this is what it felt like to be baked alive. It made such a terrible mental image.

Derek hummed, sounding interested, before sipping his espresso and looking completely blasé under what must have been a 104F heat. Stiles wanted to mess with Derek's perfect hair and perfect clothes, and stupid mirrored sunglasses. Derek had always been infuriating.

"Who's the sponsor?" Derek asked at last, putting the tiny espresso cup down. It looked dwarfed between his huge hands.

"No sponsor," Stiles explained. There wasn't a contractor on this one; he was doing it for fun. Many of Stiles other works had a sponsor backing him up, some rich dude with a lot of money aiming to gain even more money. Not this time though, "It's on us. For fun."

Derek laughed like it was funny that Stiles would do a job for no other reason but because he wanted to. Come to think of it, it surely might be so to some people. He had no idea if Derek ever did jobs outside of a contract, and most of the other thieves he heard of didn't either. Stiles though, he liked what he did. He liked his job.

He also got better cuts selling things directly. Sometimes the pay for his contracts just made him sad when compared to the price of whatever he was stealing. With the right contacts, Stiles could make a lot of money. And he had the right contacts.

"Only you," Derek said, shaking his head, and smirking. His teeth were white and his smile sharp. "Interesting."

Stiles twitched again, pushing the sleeves of his button-down past his elbows. He could feel himself reddening under the California sun. Or the reddening had nothing to do with the sun, and everything with not being able to tell where Derek was looking at, not with his glasses hiding his eyes, not when he had his back held so straight, his body posture this neutral. Stiles hated him for a moment.

"Look, I have a plan, and a good one. If you're not up for it, I can get someone else for the job. It won't be hard to find someone willing," Stiles quipped, feeling annoyed by Derek. He had this general effect on Stiles.

Derek crossed his legs, making the powerful muscles of his thigh bunch and contract at the moment, perfectly visible under the skin tight jeans.

"Oh no, I am interested, Stilinski. I am very interested," Derek smiled again, leaning forward with intent, and Stiles felt his stomach contract in response. Smug asshole, "When do we start?"

✖ ✖ ✖

Working with Derek proved to be both a challenge and the boost Stiles needed to get his plan out of the realm of planning and into _happening_ area. Derek was meticulous, in a way Stiles was not, down-to-earth and rational, while Stiles' own brain was always tempted by the most complex way, but not necessarily the most obvious one. It was both a curse and a blessing that it was so; it meant Stiles was able to find creative ways of doing things in ways most people most certainly did not, but it also meant he was often blindsided by his own complexity. If the best solution to a puzzle was the simplest way possible, it meant that Stiles wasn't often on the optimal answer to his problems, but he did have an answer nonetheless. A working, and usually fail-proof answer.

Still, having Derek meant that Stiles was forced to review his own original planning, trim the excess out and accept a bit of blunt force to get their way. It meant three days where they argued and argued, and Stiles was almost entirely convinced this had been a terrible idea.

They eventually settled, somehow. More like they mutually let go of the rope they were both tugging in an imaginary play of tug of war, than a proper understanding.

"Can we keep deaths to a minimum, though?" Stiles asked one evening, after a particularly intense arguing, as they both lounged on Stiles' living room.

That Stiles had a living room, a functional one at that, was surprising, all things considered; he barely managed college without giving himself food poisoning on week basis. Stiles wasn't a functional adult, but he had a functional living room, with a couch and a coffee table. Some shelves with books he had never even looked at, because he didn't care about those; the books he _did_ care about were in a different shelve, in his bedroom, away from visitor's scrutiny. Still, his living room had books, and even magazines. He had _magazines_.

He had to thank Lydia for those, actually.

Derek took a gulp of his beer and eyed Stiles. He was sprawled on Stiles favorite armchair, the one in black leather that did massages if you pressed the buttons. He wanted to tell Derek to fuck off of his armchair. What right did he have to sit on his favorite piece of furniture on his rather sensible living room? None. Derek was still there, and Stiles said nothing, and, instead, he nursed his own bottle of beer and eyed Derek back.

"If it's up to me, there'll be no deaths at all," Derek replied after a moment or two. He looked tired, but then, so did Stiles. Planning was difficult, "I am not like that. You know that."

Stiles scoffed in response, getting a glare for his trouble, "Not what you planned for."

Shrugging, Derek closed his eyes. Liked that, head thrown back, neck exposed, he looked less dangerous. Stiles shook the imagery away.

"I plan for everything that might happen, much like you. Your tool of choice is complete avoidance. Mine isn't."

Stiles didn't say anything to that, because it was true. Stiles was a master on the art of avoiding danger, and maybe that was why his plans were so elaborated. He could be reckless; he _had been_. It hadn't really worked out for him.

"You talk like I am not willing to get my hands dirt. I am. You know I am."

Derek hummed in response. It could have been anything. _Yes, I know. No, I don't. No, you're not._

"Look, you're not so much of a thief as I am," Stiles said, and Derek didn't bother saying anything in reply, but his eyebrow arched in a question anyway, "Not lately anyway, from what I’ve heard. I am a thief. That's all I am. I steal things, I sell it to the highest bidder at times. That's it. You, though. You're…"

"I do what I am hired to."

"You're a hit man. I am a thief."

There was no judgment in his tone, but Derek jerked like there was one anyway. There was a fight brewing there, Stiles could feel it, but he didn't have the energy to pursue it. He also didn't have the energy to diffuse it. There was nothing to do but let it go and see what course it would take.

"You talk like you never killed. You know you have. I know you have. Spare me the moral high ground; it's not cute coming from you."

Stiles laughed, because what else was there to do, when Derek talked about the things Stiles did like it was nothing at all. He hated being reminded of it. But he also couldn't do anything about it, not denying, not even getting angry, because it was true.

Instead he smirked, and raised his beer in mock salute, "True enough. Moral high ground was always Scott's business, never mine." Stiles paused, unsure of what he meant when he continued with, "You have guns. You should give me a spare one."

He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like an aggression when he said that.

There was silence. Stiles rarely ever mentioned Scott these days; they parted ways when Allison parted. It wasn't that Scott had cut Stiles out, it was that Scott had left Stiles' world, and while Stiles could inhabit Scott's, it felt wrong somehow.

Derek had known Scott, because everybody knew Scott, and everybody loved Scott. Derek also had _known_ Scott, because once upon a time, they were all close. Scott was everybody's favorite criminal, because he had work ethics, of all things. He was a Robin Hood, of sorts, a prince among thieves, and he used to be Stiles' partner. His best friend. His _brother_. He was clearly the better person of the duo, and all that was left now was Stiles.

Derek offered nothing in return for several moments, probably thinking of Scott. Scott would have never used lethal means in a plan, he would _never_. Scott was also not there. Derek stayed like that, still and silent for so long that Stiles almost thought he had fallen asleep. He wasn't asleep, though, Stiles knew that. He knew what Derek looked like when he was actually asleep.

"Remind me to pack my stun gun," Derek said, in an off-tone, almost soft enough to spark anger on Stiles. It didn't, though. It just made something unfurl in his chest, a knot he didn't know was there to ease, "I think I have a spare too. You can have it."

✖ ✖ ✖

By the end of the first week working together, they had a new plan ready, half of the glass board free of any writing. By then, Stiles also had gotten in about five loud fights with Derek, one that almost became physical, and uncountable hours of mutual, frustrated silence, as they tried to work their differences. It often came to an end with soft, veiled charged talks, about past missions. Stiles retold the first mission they worked together. Derek remembered the first time he worked with Scott. They both talked about the group casino mission; what a blast that one had been, an improbable victory that they made happen. They remembered things; Stiles and Derek had a past they often didn't acknowledge. It was easier not to.

Scott came up several times, more and more often, as if they were both stating things to themselves about values they had lost in the way.

None of them mentioned Allison, which Stiles was grateful for.

By the end of the second week, they had their gears and devices ready to go, fake identities ready, plane tickets bought, reservations, and a hole for them to hide, if things blew up, just in case. They also had fought more, more explosively and less frequently.

They also started sleeping together.

It wasn't planned, not on Stiles front anyway. But it never was, and yet, they always ended up in this same spot, in which they would share a bed, or a couch, – or the floor, really, they weren't picky – and their tension would break ever so slightly as to be enough for them to work more smoothly. Stiles always pegged it to just nerves and needing relief. It was never more, it never went further, and it always ended once the job ended.

This time, though, it felt different. Maybe because for once they didn't tumble into frantic sex after an argument. It just… happened. Stiles wasn't sure what to make of it, but Derek seemed the same after, so he wasn't going to say anything about it himself.

Different or not, it would end once the job ended. Those were the unspoken rules. Right?

Stiles finished the online check-in, saving the boarding gate information on his phone, getting nicely organized. He went back all the info, making a quick inventory of things he had to check, had checked, and checked them mentally one more time. He couldn't miss things. Missing things meant failing, and failing meant either jail or death.

More often than not it meant death. Thieves like Stiles knew too much. Too many people, too many secrets, too much of everything and everyone. Thieves like Stiles also were known for angering more than their fair share of powerful people that were just more than just a little bent on revenge.

He sighed, taking his glasses off, and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Stiles was pumped full of adrenaline and excitement, but he was also tired and wary and afraid. Missions could go wrong. For all of his cockiness, the sureness of his abilities, things sometimes went... Wrong.

Look at Allison. How wrong that went.

Stiles swirled on his chair, meaning to maybe stretch his legs a bit, when halfway through his spin, he was faced to Derek in the doorway. His scruff was denser now, a stark difference from the clean shave when they met on the cafe. Stiles liked this more. He was almost sad that Derek would shave soon, like he always did before of a mission.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked, and it sounded atypical somehow, like it was something else entirely that Derek was asking. Stiles didn't know what was it, though.

"Just finished check-in. I went ahead and did yours too."

Derek nodded, unconcerned. He tapped his pocket, and Stiles opened his mouth in a silent, soft " _ah_ ". He probably received a notification on his mobile, then.

"You should sleep." And again Derek sounded like he meant something else. It was unnerving.

"Nah. I am going to sleep on the plane. Fourteen hours of flight is more than enough. If I went to sleep now, I would be wide awake during the flight, and then wrecked for the mission."

Derek nodded again, and this time Stiles noticed his stance wasn't nearly as casual as it first appeared. He looked coiled and tense, like he was steeling himself for something. Stiles wondered if it was pre-job jitters. Those were unavoidable.

It was strange though. He didn't remember ever seeing Derek this… disquiet.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand what was happening, when Derek stalked into the room. His usual confident gait was stilted, almost hesitant, and Stiles felt himself growing apprehensive. He was about to say so, ask Derek if there was something about the plan that he should be aware of, but then Derek was stopping between Stiles' open thighs, and kneeling on the floor right between the v of his legs. Derek locked the chair in place, to avoid it from spinning, and then placed both his hands on Stiles' thighs. He didn't look up. Stiles didn't take his eyes off him.

Derek's hands moved, up Stiles' jeans, into his inner thighs, across his crotch. Derek moved them slowly, with intent, and enough room for Stiles to voice an objection if he so desired. He didn't.

His button was popped open, and his zipper was pulled down, and for a moment Derek just stroked Stiles through his underwear, until he was hard. It didn't take long. Stiles thought of saying something, but just bit his bottom lip instead. Derek leaned in and licked a long stripe, leaving a hot trail of saliva on his underwear. Stiles panted, sounding too loud on the unearthly silence of the bedroom.

As Derek slid a hand inside the elastic band of his underwear, Stiles just sighed. The angle was terrible, his jeans were too constricting, but he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to say. He couldn't even move. All he could do was breath and watch and hope that whatever had possessed Derek into this didn't go away.

He wasn't sure why, but it felt like he would crumble if Derek just stopped.

As if reading Stiles' mind, Derek tugged on Stiles' jeans, giving him a hint on what he wanted to do. Stiles moved for the first time saving the deep heaving of his chest, lifting his hips up, just enough to give Derek room. Derek frowned, even with his head tilted down Stiles could see the dip of his eyebrows. But he didn't say anything, just eased Stiles out of his jeans, pulling them down down down, until they were around his ankles. His underwear followed a moment later, and then Stiles was naked waist down on his chair, only with a t-shirt and a plaid shirt over it, and he never felt more exposed like this, not even when completely naked and splayed out.

Derek leaned in again, and this time, when he licked Stiles, there was no fabric acting as a barrier, and Stiles couldn't help the soft sound that was born in his throat and died there without ever making it to his lips. Derek licked again, this time with fingers wrapped on the base of Stiles cock, sliding up and down, as his mouth made a throughout work any skin it could reach, licking relentlessly. It struck Stiles as hilarious that Derek was in bed what he was out of it: methodical, objective and through.

When Derek finally, _finally,_ put Stiles in his mouth, he did it inch by inch going on and on, enveloping Stiles in velvet, wet heat, and it took everything Stiles had to not buck under the sensation. Derek had one hand in his hip, a firm pressure that was sure not enough to really stop Stiles if he did. He wouldn't though, he held his body tight, gripping on the armrest with all he had, even as Derek started to bob his head up and down, and Jesus, down he went, so far his hand had left the base of Stiles cock to give him space to _keep going_. Stiles moaned loudly at the feeling of being deep throated like, of his cock finding the soft resistance of Derek's throat before feeling a soft pressure of it working _around_ his cock. Derek answered his moan with one, deep and satisfied, and that Stiles felt on his damn bones.

He resurfaced with a gasp, and Stiles looked at him, the hooded eyes, and the spit running down his chin, his reddened lips, and something seized in his chest.

Derek didn't give Stiles enough time for deep emotional thoughts, not when he mouth was back with vengeance, not when his cheeks were hollowing with sucking, not when his hand was jerking Stiles' off with enough precision to make his moan loudly – too loud, too much – and then Stiles was coming inside Derek's mouth, pouring onto Derek’s tongue as he swallowed without much thought.

Stiles panted in his seat, as Derek let go of him, licking his lips in an contemplative sort of way. Derek seemed heavy in thoughts, much like Stiles was, and it made him wonder.

Neither said anything, not when Stiles slid from his chair into Derek's lap in one smooth, gracious movement, not when Stiles was kissing Derek, long and hard, chasing the taste of his own come. Derek welcomed the kiss and the weight of Stiles' body over his, and even if their thoughts were most certainly not forgotten, they were stashed away for some other moment. Or never.

Stiles pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, and just took Derek in, just for a brief moment because just now, he was allowed to.

"I personally find my bed much more comfortable than the floor," Stiles said, and if he was aiming for humor, the roughness of his voice betrayed him.

Derek didn't comment on it, though. He just slid Stiles out of his lap, and stood up. For a moment, Stiles thought he would _leave_ , but instead he just pulled his shirt off, and threw it aside before sitting on the bed.

Stiles followed him, because he couldn't imagine doing anything else.

✖ ✖ ✖

Their entire trip to Kuala Lumpur took exactly twenty-one hours, of which only eighteen were spent inside the plane, and the other three hours were lost between traffic, and commuting. Stiles slept all the while he was in the plane – knocked off with meds to ensure his continued sleep – , as he intended to, while Derek did not. Then Derek snoozed while they went to the hotel, head resting against the window of the cab, looking vulnerable. Stiles hated him a bit for it, mostly for the way his heart always seemed to skip a beat at that sight.

Treacherous, stupid heart.

Their hotel was a dingy thing, just a faceless gray building in a sea of faceless gray buildings, and it wouldn't even pass for a hotel if it wasn't for the valiant plaque at the door stating so. What it had of uncomfortable and dubious, it also had of anonymous, and that was pretty much all Stiles and Derek cared about in these circumstances. Comfort was a luxury for other moments, not for a job. Not that job, at any rate.

They put their bags down and split to check the room and the perimeter.

After he was done, Stiles opened his laptop and opened his plan. He had made a digital copy of it since he couldn't take his glass boards around. He had it memorized of course, and he knew Derek had as well, but visual reminders were always welcome. Derek came back from walking the perimeter and securing their floor, closing the door softly behind him before hooking in the metal chain in place. It looked like the strongest, most secure feature of the entire bedroom, more solid than the walls.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked, and Derek nodded. He took off his jacket, wrapping it on the back of a chair which wobbled perilously before righting itself. Derek, being a sensible creature, sat on the bed. It creaked, but didn't wobble, and that was a victory.

"We're alone on this corridor. There's two occupied bedrooms on the other one, but I don't think those are long term guests."

Stiles smirked, getting the meaning. Small hotels like that were often used by sex workers. He wouldn't be particularly surprised if it was so. Still, it was better to keep an eye.

"Okay, cool. Let's review the plan, real quick, and then we get this show on the road, okay?"

Derek rolled his eyes, leaned on his elbows, and let out a theatrical sigh, "If you must. I already know it by heart."

"It doesn't hurt to go through the fine details, okay? That's important."

Stiles opened his plan, full-screened it, and adjusted it so Derek could see better (and so what if he had a whole PDF file with his plans? It was important).

"Okay, so there'll be a charity ball in honor Richard Parrish III later today. The event is guests only, and they have a special invitation card that will be checked at the door. The invitations are matched with the guest list, everything is tight and nice. No invitation and match, no entry."

Stiles rummaged through one of his bag and pulled a pair of cream colored cards, with a tastefully printed texture and golden lettering. There was a discrete chip on the bottom. What they had in hand was done forgery, with hacked chips that would search add their fake persona to the guest list. It was a dirty trick, an expensive one even, but it would pay out in the end.

He passed Derek his card, and put his own beside the computer.

"Next, we need to make our way to the bowels of the Petronas Towers."

"Bowels is such a terrible word."

"Shush. I am onto something here. Anyway, we need to get access. The party's ballroom is closed off, it has open access to the kitchens, to the bathrooms, to three adjacent rooms for the guests. As it is, any other passage to other areas of the buildings will be under watch or locked. And the elevators are programed to take guests to the right floor and back."

Derek nodded dutifully because he knew that. So Stiles plunged on, "There's a camera feed close the bathroom. I can hack it from the bathroom, get some nice feedback loop running for us. It won't cover our asses for long, though, I can maybe run a 40 minutes long loop, it should be enough for us. More than that, and we're risking. 40 minutes is already risky as it is."

"It's more than enough. We'll be done by 30," Derek reassured. They had made trial runs, and they had wrapped it up 27 minutes. It had been their best run – their average was 31 minutes – but that meant they had nine minutes for any trouble. It wasn't enough time to even get out of the towers if they aborted the mission.

Anxiety curled on Stiles' chest. He pushed it down.

"So, studying the buildings’ blueprint, I know that there's a maintenance way on the elevators. It's just about big enough for one person at a time, but it's enough. It's also relatively safe for us to be there, even if the elevators are running. As long as we don't stuck our limbs on harm’s way, that is."

That took a snort from Derek, and Stiles smiled satisfied. He tried not to think too much about it.

"We can either climb all the way to the top or get off on some of the top floors, pray there's no security, and then get the elevator to the top floor."

"We'll be running blind then."

"I can try to redirect the camera feed to my own phone, but it would only work if I was connected. I won’t be able to use it on the run. Their entire security system is wired – nothing there is wireless, except for some security sensors. It might make me vulnerable, by showing our position."

"Go on."

"Okay, so ahn… Once we reach the top floor, there'll be a several security systems. That's where I need you."

"Oh, I thought you needed me for more than that," Derek's tone was playful and unassuming, but there was something, some underlying meaning Stiles tried his best not to contemplate. It wasn't the time. It would be over soon.

"Yeah, yeah, big guy. Anyway, I need you to create a distraction so I can go up the ventilation shaft. And then, while you hack the door down, I will be deactivating the pressure plates on the floor."

Derek nodded and leaned down further, almost lying down completely, and God, did he look ridiculously attractive. His shirt had rode up a bit, part of his abs, showing, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to stop their run and nose his happy trail until it got him what Stiles wanted.

He cleaned his throat and kept talking.

"Once the door is open, and you have my okay, you can go in. I will deactivate another part of the pressure plate, and then jackpot. I need you to unscrew the vent door for me; they are screwed on the outside, obviously, and the space is too narrow for me to reach."

"I know, Stiles. You told me this about ten thousand times. I won't leave you in the vent shaft. Go on."

"I don't know that. You might!"

Derek just glared, and oh didn't that expression give Stiles weird flashbacks, from a distant and a more recent past.

 _Things changed, and I didn't notice when,_ Stiles thought to himself for a moment before resuming his explanation.

"Anyway, you free me from my confinement, we hack the vault. We grab what we want. We close it, we scram. And we're several digits richer."

Stiles beamed at Derek, who just rolled his eyes, sat up and grabbed Stiles by the waistband. Stiles yelped as Derek pulled him, falling ungracefully in a heap of limbs of him.

Their plans got forgotten for a few minutes after that. It was alright, Stiles thought. They were prepared.

✖ ✖ ✖

"My plans did not prepare me for this."

They had done everything right. They had infiltrated the towers, Stiles hacked the camera feed like it was a hot knife on butter. Their ascending through the elevator was the most uneventful and heart wrenching experience of Stiles' life. The floor where they arrived had guards, but Derek managed to subdue them with minimum work. His crawling through the shaft had been claustrophobic and a bit panic inducing, but Stiles managed it anyway.

Only for them to get into the vault room and get face to face with an intricate laser system.

Stiles stared at it, feeling cheated out of something. This shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't. He had studied the blueprints. He had studied everything there was about the buildings.

Where did he fail?

He had a flash of memory pass through his mind, so vivid he felt dizzy. He remembered tripping a laser, a much simpler version of this one, and raising the alarm. He remembered Allison’s panicked face as she realized what had happened. Stiles remembered the red of her aloof as the guards caught them, shooting to kill. Stiles _remembered_ , not that he had ever forgotten. He could never.

He swayed where he was standing, and Derek held his arm, steadying him on his feet. They stared at each for a moment, and Stiles was aware that Derek was thinking the same thing he was.

The other time a failure of a laser system occurred, it had cost someone's life.

"This was not on the plans, this was, most certainly not, in the fucking plans," Stiles whispered, holding panic at bay. Okay, he needed to think and think fast. Their entire plan was time sensitive. They had minutes left. Running, second-hungry minutes.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

Stiles didn't stop what he was doing to answer. He was too busy stripping himself from any extra equipment he didn't need. Up until that moment, he was even still wearing the damn tie, pants and dress shirt of his suit. He had only ever taken off the jacket, and given it to Derek. Now, though he needed mobility. He needed all his flexibility and more, and Stiles never wished harder he had caved in into doing yoga when Lydia went through that fad.

"Okay, okay, I need silence, and I need to concentrate, for fuck's sake, _be quiet_ ," Stiles warned, as Derek stared in bafflement as Stiles stretched himself. He was never happier that he actually insisted to use a lighter attire under his clothes, an all-black tight shirt and an even tighter pants. Technically, they were slightly modified leggings, a little less tight on his hip area, and with pockets, because he needed practicality. Still, it was skin tight, and suddenly Stiles was weirdly conscious of his figure. Never mind, he didn't have the time to feel conscious, or that Derek had seen him with way less clothing.

"What are you-- Stiles!"

Stiles ignored Derek in favor to cautiously swing his leg over one laser. He could do it. He could pass through the laser field. Granted, he was no Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment – God, he didn't even _like_ that movie – but he could pull it off. He could be Vincent Cassel in Ocean's Twelve. Not that he liked that one as well. But he could do it.

He had to. It was too late for failure. Stiles twisted himself, holding his balance on one foot, as he stretched out his body to pass between two laser beams, without tripping a third. He pulled himself through, hands on the floor, and belly muscles burning at the effort to pull his legs, but he managed. The laser was inches from his face, but he managed to lower himself on the ground, before pushing himself under another laser.

"You sure look good from where I stand," Derek commented, his voice so soft, as to not startle Stiles. Stiles tried not to laugh, least it made him lose his strength, but he knew how he must look from Derek's angle. His ass was high in the air, his spine curved as his crawled from under the laser, slowly. In those tight leggings? It must look like a wonder.

He almost laughed, at the exhilarating feeling of physically bypassing these lasers. It was insanity, they were insane, but it was amazing.

"That's good, Stiles," Derek whispered from where he was. It seemed like Stiles had walked miles, but Derek's voice sounded so close. He still had an infinite extension of laser field to cover.

He kept going, as Derek muttered soft praises and lighthearted jokes. It was getting hard, though. It took a lot of muscle strength to hold himself and move so slowly, and Stiles' body was starting to burn from the exertion. He could feel sweat pooling on the bottom of his back.

Jesus, he was so far.

Stiles trembled, and wobbled on his feet, where he was passing a leg over a laser, head low, body perpendicular to the laser beam. He tightened his muscles, and stopped himself from stretching his arms for balance. If he did, he would touch a laser. He would trip the alarm. They would be locked inside this room. And if there was this tiny little surprise, Stiles was deadly afraid there could be other surprises. Of the lethal kind.

He wasn't going to make it. Stiles trembled where he was, gulping.

"I can't do this," Stiles whispered, and he was suddenly afraid his breath was going to trigger the laser. He was going hysterical.

"No, no, you're doing great. Go on. Just go slowly. You can do it. You're so close."

Stiles took a deep breath, and passed through the laser, before avoiding another intricate crisscrossing of red lines. There was barely enough space, and it wasn't like Stiles was a small guy. He wasn't. He was Derek's height, and just less bulky, but his shoulders were just as broad. This was stupid. Stiles was _stupid_.

How did he miss giant net of lasers, for god's sake?

"Derek. Derek, you should go," Stiles urged, as he looked at the remaining lasers. They were tight together, there was almost no space left for Stiles to squeeze through. He could – no, he would try – but chances were that he would mess up. If that was the case, it was better for only one of them to be caught. There was no need to get Derek fucked over Stiles' mistake.

"What?"

"Go! Save your hide. I can't–"

"You can't? Since when are you this much of a quitter?” _Since when do you care so much?_ rang in the silence between them, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles said nothing – could say nothing – except hold his muscles tight and keep going. He twisted, turned and stretched, trying not to think of how close to touching he was, how hard this was. Stiles wasn’t a graceful person, he never was. He was smart, and he had quick thinking, but his motor control was impaired at best. What in hell had possessed him to do this?

“Stiles,” Derek called softly, as Stiles crawled, belly up on the floor, he stopped for a moment. He couldn’t see Derek, but his voice sounded a bit farther away than before. Maybe he was leaving after all, “You’re doing fine.”

Stiles smiled and pushed himself out of the radius of the last laser. Not another failure on his hands.

He lay on the floor, panting as if he had ran a marathon, feeling the telltale tightening on mean Charley horse. Still, he was ecstatic. They probably had about ten minutes to crack the vault door, go in and out, if that, but he made it. He went through a whole laser beam field. Take that, Catherine Zeta-Jones, hah!

“Good job, Stiles,” Derek said, standing right beside Stiles, holding Stiles's things in his hand.

Wait.

“What the fu–” Stiles sat up and looked at the lasers, suddenly panicked that he had hit one laser on accident and triggered the alarm. But there was no commotion, no nothing. But the lasers were simply gone, "Where the hell are the lasers?”

"I turned them off."

"You turned them– You did what now?"

Instead of explaining, Derek walked back to the entrance, and gestured at a small panel that Stiles had missed completely.

"Laser controls."

"You've got to be kidding."

Derek laughed, walking back to where Stiles was still lying, shocked and humiliated. Stiles was sure all his blood flow had gone north, flushing his face red. Derek seemed unconcerned though; he just extended a hand for Stiles to grab.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Stiles questioned, without taking the hand. He was unsure if he should get angry or mortified or both, "Why let me do that?"

Waving his hand for Stiles to take, Derek answered in an amused tone, "Because you looked like you were having fun."

"Having...? Are you kidding me? I almost worked myself into a panic attack there! I could have triggered the alarm and fucked us over! What the fuck, are you– Take your hand out of my face or I swear I'll bite it off!"

"You didn't give me time to think of an alternative way before you were jumping on those lasers," Derek said, now looking not so smug. There was a hint of uncertainty in his tone, like Stiles outburst was making him reconsider his actions, "I disconnect the lasers from the alarm anyway. They were harmless. Can we now please go to the vault? We have fifteen minutes left on the camera feed."

Stiles harrumphed, and took Derek's hand. He eyed him, still half way into getting really angry, but Derek was right. They were on timer. So Stiles turned and jogged to the vault door.

"Give me my phone, I have the reset codes for this security door model," Stiles said, and Derek obliged in silence. Stiles glared at him for good measure, "You could have told me when I was there."

"I could," Derek admitted, "but then you would never know if you could make it through it."

"Oh please. I don't need to."

"Don't you?"

For a moment, Stiles had a raging desire to punch Derek as hard as he could. Instead, he punched the long string of numbers for the reset sequence, smiling as the panel blinked and several red zeros appeared on the tiny led screen. Stiles pressed the enter button, and smiled as the vault released the heavy solid metal locks, retreating them and opening itself for Stiles and Derek.

Stiles smiled against his will, and Derek gestured at him.

"You do the honors. You deserve it."

"You know what I don't deserve? Mockery," Stiles shot back, incensed at Derek, stepping into the vault with anger burning inside him.

Derek held Stiles by the arm, holding him back.

"I'm not mocking you. You did a good job. Forget what I did. _You_ made it. For someone so full of himself, you sure are difficult to accept an honest compliment."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue back, but Derek was already going inside the vault, back turned to him, tense and unwelcoming, so Stiles swallowed and stashed his comeback for later. They had a job to do.

They made it out of the building with five entire minutes to waste.

✖ ✖ ✖

Selling the content of the vault wasn't hard, but it was also a process. A careful, long process that Stiles paid attention to, because he had no interest on being caught. Still, diamonds always had willing buyers in the black market, and diamonds like the ones Stiles had stolen were highly wanted.

He made a good sum of money on his first batch of sales, more than enough to cover for the expenses of the mission, and there was enough surplus that he could pay his bills for a good while.

All in all, the entire plan had been a success.

But as Stiles lounged on his living room, he didn't feel like that. Derek had gone his way the moment they touched American soil, grabbing his part of the spoils and disappearing. Stiles expected that, he did. He wasn't even sure if he wanted Derek around him any more than the necessary, not after the stunt he pulled at the vault room. Stiles was angry.

Except he wasn't angry anymore. Hadn't been for a while now, since the high from a job finished with no issues and a bag full of diamonds overruled at anger he could have held to. But he hadn't managed to talk to Derek, nor did he know what to say. And then they were back, Derek was gone, and now, three weeks later, Stiles was in his stupid functional living room, eying his favorite armchair, instead of sitting on it.

There was something surprising in the sudden gap that Derek's absence made in his life. They had cohabited the same space for two weeks. But suddenly Derek was a fixture, one that Stiles didn't expect, and now he missed it. He missed Derek's snark, and he missed his cutting remarks, and he also missed the sex. God, how much he missed the sex.

Stiles pawed for his beer on the coffee table, and drained it dry in one go. He hated this stupid table. He hated his entire living room. Lydia had decorated it for him, making it tasteful and adult-like and whatnot. It had been a demand of their job; they need to at least look like functional people, if anyone came sniffing. And Stiles knew better than not to have a functional place to live. His dad would worry.

But now that he was sitting there, it seemed empty. That living room wasn't his, it wasn't _his_ living room, it was a living room for a person that Stiles was supposed to pretend his was when he wasn't stealing extremely valuable artifacts from extremely dangerous people. That room only looked remotely real when Derek was sitting in that chair.

He moved to his bedroom, avoiding dwelling too long about how Derek looked naked in his bed. He was almost achieving some blissful sleep when his doorbell rang.

Stiles almost, _almost,_ ignored it. He just didn't because he couldn't remember when was the last time anyone ever rang his doorbell that wasn't a pizza boy or his dad visiting.

Stiles shuffled, quietly picking up a pistol from his desk, and then moving down the hallway. When holding the goods he was holding, and doing the business Stiles did, he knew he’d better be careful. As much as he opposed guns, he owned one, legally owned one, as well as a clean piece that couldn't be traced back to him. As silently as he could, tiptoed his way to the door and looked through the peephole.

Derek was standing at the other side.

"I know you are there, Stiles. Open the damn door."

Stiles frowned and unlocked the door, living the chain in place.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked, feeling slightly spooked. Derek rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Are you going to let me in any time soon?"

Stiles considered closing the door on his face, locking it and going back to bed.

He opened the door.

Derek waltzed into the apartment, and Stiles locked the door behind him. Derek made a beeline straight for the armchair, and Stiles could scream at the sight.

"So?" Stiles said instead, in a reasonable tone of voice. He could guess why Derek was here, "Do you need a buyer or something? It can be arranged."

Derek frowned, and looked at Stiles as if he couldn't figure out what he was saying.

"What? Why would I need a buyer?"

"Uh, for the diamonds? You know, those tiny rocks we stole? Those diamonds?"

Derek shook his head, and reclined on the armchair. It went all the way back, and the foot rest popped up.

"No, I don't need a buyer. I already sold my part."

"All of it?"

"Mhm. I had some buyers on the wait ever since I accepted the plan."

Stiles frowned at that.

"That's risky, and kinda stupid. They could have sold us out."

"It isn't like they knew what they would be buying or what I was doing. And they are trustworthy," Derek paused and smirked, "Or as trustworthy as people like that can be, at any rate."

Stiles nodded, and went to the couch. He perched himself at the arm, balancing himself precariously. Derek eyed him with some sort of unnamed emotion that tethered on the verge of interested, but felt like something else. Something more.

"So, why are you here then?"

"Why do you think?"

Stiles felt like a hook was tugging his insides, a spread of warmth he associated to his teenager years and hadn't felt in a long time. Derek seemed to see right through him, because he smiled. Actually smiled, soft eyes and lips tugging up. There wasn't a hint of his usual smirk.

"I went to see Scott," Derek stated, and Stiles recoiled like he had been hit. He almost toppled over the arm of the couch, and it would have been funny, if Stiles wasn't with his lungs seized up in shock.

Derek kept going, like he was unaware of Stiles's reaction. They both knew it wasn't the case.

"He looks well. He's engaged, did you know? A woman named Kira. She seems sweet."

Stiles did know. He might have let Scott go after Allison died – no, he might have kept Scott out, unable to beg for a forgiveness that would not come – but that didn't mean he didn't keep tabs on Scott. He needed to know.

Derek waited, saying nothing for several seconds, as if waiting for Stiles to come up with some commentary, some pleasant interjection. He couldn't even breathe.

"Scott said he missed you. He doesn't blame you. That you need to come back home."

"Beacon Hills isn't home," Stiles shot back automatically, but it sounded like a lie, and one Derek heard.

Stiles hadn't cried in years. Literal years. Ever since he was a teenager. He was twenty-six. He hadn’t cried in over a decade. He didn't cry when Allison died.

Derek sighed softly, and took a small piece of folded paper from the breast pocket of his leather jacket. He put it on the coffee table, and pushed it in Stiles direction.

Stiles didn't need to be told that that was Scott's phone and address. He knew. He wanted to set the coffee table on fire.

"I am tired of playing this game," Derek said at last, closing his eyes as he did. He looked utterly relaxed, or utterly defeated, "I am tired of coming and going. And I am tired of your avoidance. You need to stop, Stiles."

Stiles shook at Derek's word, the openness of them, and the lack of masks. Derek was never one for big displays of emotion, but then Stiles thought, Derek was never one for facades. He was what he was, or he was nothing at all.

He wasn't sure if he could be the same, but then, looking at Derek’s closed eyes, Stiles felt like he should at least try.

"You talk like I was the one leaving every time."

Derek gave a one shoulder shrug.

"You never told me to stay either."

Stiles snorted, "Like I would. Have you met me? If you wanted to stay, anyway, you would have said something. You would've stayed."

Derek opened his eyes, pinned Stiles where he was, "I am here now."

Stiles felt his breath leave him, felt his fingertips warming. He felt. And he hadn’t been feeling much in a long long time. But then he passed a laser field, he dreamed about Allison without waking up in a pool of sweat and dying screams on his lips. He had missed Derek, and acknowledged it. Scott _forgave_ him. He wanted him to go back home.

Derek was right there, on his stupid fake living room, looking at him. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Derek had been waiting for a long time now, hadn't he?

"Tomorrow," Stiles said, "Tomorrow we can... Go. To Beacon Hills."

Derek nodded, with a small smile that was all for Stiles and no one else. Stiles smiled back at Derek.

"So, just so we are on the same page," Stiles said after a moment, "Are you what? Asking to date me?"

Derek laughed, loud and long, and it wasn't cold mockery. It was true amusement, undiluted happiness.

"It would probably be better if you could say that last part without sounding so baffled."

Stiles snickered, and stood up. Derek pushed the foot rest back, making the armchair resume its original position. Always so smart, always seeing right through Stiles. Stiles climbed his lap, sat on his knees. It felt weirdly non-sexual. A first between them.

"Stiles and Derek, a couple of thieves. What a damn cliché."

Derek leaned in, kissing Stiles slow and sure, and it felt a bit like winning the laser field, but different. More intense.

"Don't make any jokes about stealing my heart, though," Derek says, as Stiles dazedly looks at him, "That is where I draw the line on clichés."

Stiles laughed like he hadn't in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an answer to [Mel](http://loserchildhotpants.tumblr.com)'s prompt for my round on the Spin The Bottle game on sterekwriters@tumblr!
> 
> Prompt was: __  
> Your OTP as thieves. Person A watching, and complimenting how sexy B looks lithely weaving their way through the intricate network of deadly alarm lasers surrounding their target. A also make sure that B skillfully, gingerly, makes it all the way to the end end before A shuts the lasers off and just walks through.  
>  Your OTP as thieves. Person A watching, and complimenting how sexy B looks lithely weaving their way through the intricate network of deadly alarm lasers surrounding their target. A also make sure that B skillfully, gingerly, makes it all the way to the end end before A shuts the lasers off and just walks through.
> 
> I planned to make this a Leverage AU, but it became some weird hybrid between Entrapment, Leverage and every other thief movie I've watched. Oops!
> 
> Thanks Eva -- apinkducky@tumblr -- for the beta!


End file.
